


These Little Ones

by cyankelpie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale can't follow orders (this is a good thing), Biblical Reinterpretation, Childbirth, Crowley Loves Kids (Good Omens), Developing Friendships, Gen, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Noah's Ark, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Someone else's not Crowley's, just to be clear, you can't kill kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23729041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyankelpie/pseuds/cyankelpie
Summary: Some retellings of biblical stories, wherein Aziraphale and Crowley are fond of children and softer than their jobs allow them to be.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 93
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	1. Eden

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow, an entire fic based on the fact that Crowley said "You can't kill kids" that one time. Each chapter is a different, mostly standalone story.

“So, all-in-all,” Crawly said, wrapping up his report, “an overwhelming victory for our side, I’d say. Paradise is in shambles, and She’s not letting the humans back in, ever. Not to mention, they know about all sorts of sins now that they didn’t before. Lust, that’s new, that’s a big one. Oh, and shame, which isn’t exactly a sin but is still bad nonetheless, probably. Plus, I overheard something about the pain of childbirth, so they’ll have to deal with that now.”

_Excellent work, Crawly._

“Well, y’know.” He gave a modest shrug. “All in a day’s work.”

_And this “pain of childbirth.” What was that like?_

Crawly cleared his throat. “Sorry, what?”

_That’s brand-new, and we’ll need some in-depth documentation. Describe it._

“Er,” said Crawly. “Get right back to you on that.”

Crawly turned around and went back up to Earth to figure out what exactly the whole childbirth thing was all about. She (gender was a new invention, and Crawly had decided she might play around with it a little) wasn’t entirely sure what she should be looking for. She figured at some point Eve would start wailing and gnashing her teeth in agony, and Crawly would think, _Oh, that must be the childbirth,_ and then she’d be able to go downstairs and explain that, big surprise, the pain of childbirth was, in fact, painful. She hoped she hadn’t missed it already.

If she hadn’t, then it took a long bloody time to kick in. It had been nine months, and all that had happened was that Eve kept getting bigger and her mood was all over the place. Adam didn’t really know what to do with that, so they bickered constantly. That, Crawly thought, would make a nice addition to her report. The humans were also frequently hungry, especially Eve, which made both of them tetchy until Adam found some animal to cut down and roast with the same flaming sword. Very convenient, that. Food preparation and cooking all with the same tool. Crawly might leave that out of the report, though.

Eve also seemed to be in discomfort quite a lot of the time. Maybe that was the childbirth? It wasn’t what Crawly would call “severe pain,” but then, she wasn’t the one feeling it. Very recently, she had noticed a pattern where Eve would sometimes cry out and clutch at her belly. It never lasted very long, but it kept happening. Maybe that was the childbirth? Crawly still couldn’t tell what was causing it, or why it kept happening more frequently.

Then things started to get messy.

Eve was screaming, and she could barely move, and Adam had no idea what to do so he got some water and just sort of sat there dabbing at her forehead and trying to keep her calm despite visibly panicking himself. Crawly, tangled in the branches of a nearby tree, tried to take mental notes, but it was difficult to concentrate when Eve was in so much pain. It was horrible. This had to be the childbirth, right? As far as punishments for disobedience went, this really fit the bill. Crawly would know. She remembered what it felt like to Fall. Crawly had probably sounded something like that, too, as she lay in the darkness burning and screaming and burning and screaming…

Before she gave herself time to think about it, she slithered down from the tree and changed into a more human shape. “Okay,” she said, stepping out from behind the tree and giving Adam a heart attack. He immediately went for the sword. “No, you stupid—Put that down. I come in peace, alright? Don’t be afraid.”

He looked very, very afraid. “Are you an angel of the Lord?”

“Do I look like—”

They were interrupted by another agonized scream from Eve, and Crawly decided there were more pressing issues at the moment than protecting her demonic reputation. “Eve?” Crawly knelt beside her. “It’s alright. It’s gonna be alright. Breathe, okay?” She had no idea whether or not it was going to be alright, but she knew it was important for humans to breathe, and Eve seemed to be having a difficult time of it at the moment.

She looked up at the demon with half-focused eyes. “You,” she said through her teeth, between gasps of air. “Snake.”

Ah. So Eve did recognize Crawly, then. She had hoped that her human form would be less recognizable, but her eyes stayed the same no matter what she did. Crawly wondered if she should apologize. It seemed a little late for that. “Just keep breathing,” said Crawly, opting to ignore the matter completely. “Just, y’know, in and out. Well, you don’t need me to tell you. You’ve been doing it for months now.”

Crawly could not help but feel that she and Adam were being terribly unhelpful. If she just knew what was going on, maybe she’d know what to do about it, but all she could do was sit here and tell Eve to keep breathing. And then, to her shock, Adam reported that a small head was coming out of a place where Crawly had not expected a small head to come out of.

She went around to look. “Huh,” she said. Then Eve screamed, and Crawly went back around to try to calm her down a little. “Could you, maybe, try to push it out?” she asked.

“I’ve _been_ trying!”

“Oh, good. Great! Keep it up, then.”

It went on for so, so long, and the screaming and the gasping for air was making Eve weak. Crawly wet her forehead and wished there was more she could do. Much as Crawly tried to suppress them, Eve’s screams kept dredging up memories of the Fall, the chorus of demons howling and moaning as the divinity burned out of them, the blinding, searing, all-encompassing pain—

“Almost there,” said Adam.

Crawly wasn’t sure what he meant, but it sounded good, so she gave Eve’s arm a reassuring pat. Eve glared back at her, which was all the acknowledgement she had given Crawly through this entire process. Fair enough, really. Crawly swallowed, and wondered whether she would have gone through with the apple business, knowing that this would be the result. It was one thing to inspire independent thought (or sin, depending on who you asked), and quite another to condemn the whole future of humanity to unbearable pain.

Something was crying.

Crawly blinked and looked around. She had seen a lot of animals in her past few months on Earth, but none of them sounded quite like that.

“Eve.” Adam was cradling something very small and brown. He held it up, beaming. “You did it.”

Crawly’s eyes widened. “Is that a little person?” She looked from Eve to Adam and back. Eve smiled and nodded, exhausted, but no longer screaming.

“Would you look at that!” Crawly’s voice climbed a few octaves in excitement as she looked at the tiny thing, his round little cheeks and his tiny little fingernails and puffy eyes squinting against the light. “He’s so small! Are they all going to be this small from now on? How does that work, will they just keep getting smaller and smaller?”

“He?” said Eve, between breaths much deeper than what she had been able to draw a moment ago.

Adam nodded. “We have a son.”

She held out her arms, and Adam handed her the child. She cradled him to her chest, her face shining with joy. Crawly sat back to watch them, and realized that she was smiling, too. So that’s what childbirth meant. They’d made a tiny little person, all by themselves. It was like a little miracle in itself. No divine intervention needed.

That definitely wasn’t going in Crawly’s report.

She glanced down at the ground, her smile fading. She really ought to go back. She had a job she was supposed to be doing, after all. But so many more questions had just popped into her head. She wanted to know what would happen next, how the tiny thing in Eve’s arms was going to become a proper human who could walk and speak and make decisions, and what was going to become of humanity in general, and how many other little human miracles there were that Crawly didn’t know about. There was so much Earth, and things were changing so fast. Anything could happen.

But Crawly had already been up here for nine months, and if she was away much longer head office was going to start thinking she had deserted. With a sigh, she withdrew behind the tree. Adam and Eve were too wrapped up in their own happiness to notice her departure. She turned back into a snake and burrowed into the ground.

“So, yeah,” Crawly reported. “All sorts of weird fluids, and absolute agony for Eve. Really terrible. Probably going to make her start resenting Adam, since he doesn’t have to go through it.” She conveniently forgot to mention the fact that she had tried to help Eve through it, or Eve’s overwhelming joy afterwards. Nobody down here needed to know about that.

_Very good. And you say all Eve’s daughters will have to bear this pain?_

“Yep,” said Crawly. “Well, the ones who have kids, anyway. Actually—” She cleared her throat. “I thought it might be useful if I could observe them a little longer. With all these changes happening, there’s bound to be some more stuff we can exploit.”

_We have been thinking along the same lines, Crawly._

Her eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

_The Council intends to choose an Earthly liaison to continue our evil work on Earth. Perhaps you would be interested in applying for the position._

Crawly was very much interested in applying for the position. If she could stay up there long-term, if she could watch humanity grow up and start figuring out what they were going to do with all that Earth. She nodded, trying not to look as eager as she felt. “Sure. Pass along the application.”


	2. Mesopotamia

Aziraphale fiddled with his hands, as he usually did when he was nervous, and tried not to think about his conversation with Crawly. Of course, it was part of the ineffable plan for all these people to drown. They deserved it, somehow, though the other angels hadn’t given him a very clear explanation as to why, and he was too afraid to ask. The children, though? Even the children? That couldn’t be right.

But of course it was right _._ It was what God had ordained was going to happen. It wasn’t his place to question the Almighty. These decisions were well above his pay grade.

Except he couldn’t get it out of his head. He wondered if any of the other angels had even given a thought to the fact that there might be children down here. Did they really all need to die? Or were they just collateral damage? Was there such a thing as collateral damage, in this ongoing celestial war in which everything was supposed to serve some ineffable purpose? Bugger, he ought to know these things. He was an angel.

The crowd who had gathered to jeer at Noah’s family and gawk at the animals was starting to get nervous as the rain intensified. Some were trying to get to higher ground. The knot of children, who had been running around laughing and trying to get at the animals, hurried to the nearest hilltop, which wouldn’t be high enough. One of the little ones was crying.

Forget it, Aziraphale couldn’t just stand here and watch this. He hurried over to the little group of children. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Aziraphale. You know me, yes?”

They all nodded shakily. Aziraphale was well-known in the village. Some of the older members of the population could swear they had known his father, or grandfather, and insisted that the harvests were better when he was around.

“There’s going to be a terrible flood,” said Aziraphale. “I can help you. Will you trust me?”

The little boy who had been crying reached out and took his hand. That was enough of an answer for him. “Gather round, then,” he said. “Close your eyes. Don’t be afraid.”

He put the children to sleep first, to make the transition easier, and then in the blink of an eye they were safe in the belly of the ark. Two nearby aurochs mooed at the unexpected visitors. Aziraphale shushed them and did a quick headcount to make sure he hadn’t left anyone behind, then frowned and counted again. He was quite certain there had only been five of them, but he kept counting eight. Had he accidentally kidnapped some extra children?

A noise caught his attention, and he crouched behind the aurochs and used a quick miracle to make sure the children went unnoticed. There was no telling how Noah’s family would react to finding stowaways aboard the ark. “Alright, you lot sit tight here,” said a familiar voice. “You, where’d you say your brother was? Alright, I’ll have a look. Be back soon.”

Aziraphale stood up and stepped out from behind the aurochs. “Crawly?”

The demon jolted almost guiltily, and then stared at Aziraphale. “You?”

Aziraphale stepped forward. “What the devil are you doing here?”

Crawly moved to put himself between Aziraphale and the small group of children huddling against one of the boat’s ribs. He waved his hand, and they slumped to the ground, asleep. “Look, Aziraphale, you seem like an okay guy, and I’d hate to have to discorporate you, but if you’re here for the kids—”

“I’m not—” Aziraphale shook his head to clear it. “Did you save them?”

“I’m interfering with heavenly business,” said Crawly. “If God wants them all to—you know,” he added, with a glance at the children. “Gotta get in the way. Demonic duty.”

“Demonic—Crawly, you’re saving children.”

“It’s diabolical,” he insisted. “Why’re you here, if you’re not stopping me?”

Aziraphale’s eyes flitted back to the children he had left by the aurochs. “I was, er…”

Crawly followed his gaze, and his eyebrows rose. “You didn’t.”

Aziraphale didn’t answer. He started fidgeting again.

Crawly stared at him, stunned. Then he started laughing, and didn’t stop. He doubled over, hands on his knees to support himself, cackling until he was breathless.

“Would you stop that?” Aziraphale muttered. “I don’t see what’s so amusing.”

“S’just,” Crawly gasped, waving between himself and Aziraphale. “Angel, ‘n’a demon, just, _independently,_ deciding to do the same thing…”

“Well, one of us has to be wrong,” said Aziraphale, a little put out. “And, since saving children is obviously much more my domain than yours—”

“You told me, like, twenty minutes ago, that your side was gonna drown them,” said Crawly, straightening up and wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

“And you said you’d expect your lot to do that,” Aziraphale reminded him. “Yet, here you are, doing the opposite—”

“What happened to the ineffable plan?”

Goodness, this was a disaster. Aziraphale resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. He shouldn’t have come here, he knew that, except he couldn’t manage to drum up much actual regret when there were children safe and dry who otherwise would not be.

“Look.” Crawly had finally managed to stop laughing, though he was still grinning a little. “Okay, look. What d’you say we both just keep this off the record?”

Aziraphale looked at the sleeping children behind Crawly, then back at the ones behind him, and then noticed that there were other children tucked away in various corners of the ark. Crawly clearly wasn’t doing this for work. For that matter, neither was Aziraphale.

“Alright,” Aziraphale agreed. “There are more of them out there. The water’s rising fast.”

“Exactly,” said Crawly. “I’ll take the north, you take the south.”

Aziraphale had expected working with a demon, however briefly, to feel strange and wrong, but there wasn’t much time between pulling children from the water and making sure they were safely tucked away in the ark to reflect on it. It wasn’t the sort of thing Aziraphale usually thought about while he was doing it. It was like with the flaming sword. These children needed help, and he could give it. It was simple, really.

Aziraphale and Crawly worked fast, but the water was faster. Soon there was nothing more that they could do, though Crawly needed some convincing before he gave in to Aziraphale’s insistence that he not safely leave the ark any longer. Later, he’d think about the fact that he had convinced a demon not to get himself discorporated. In the moment, he’d almost forgotten Crawly was a demon.

Both of them sat back against the hull of the boat, listening to the waves crash just on the other side of it. Crawly wrung out his sopping hair and looked around at the dozens of kids they had managed to fit on the ark. “Got a fair number,” he said. “Even if…even if it wasn’t all of them.”

They were both silent for a moment. Aziraphale wondered if Crawly, too, was thinking about the ones they hadn’t saved. And what would become of the ones they had? They couldn’t just leave them here. He hadn’t thought this all the way through. “One of us should stay with them,” he said. “They’ll need food, and water, and someone to keep an eye on them.”

Crawly nodded. “Lot of kids, for just one pair of eyes, though.”

Aziraphale blinked. If Crawly was implying what he thought he was—But that was out of the question. It was one thing to go off-the-clock and work together for a brief period. It was something else entirely to do so for a matter of months. “I have plenty of eyes,” he said. “Not, er, now, obviously. In my true form. Quite a lot of eyes.”

Crawly snorted. “You don’t think that might spook them a little?”

That was a fair point. He didn’t want to go accidentally smiting them all into salt, when he and Crawly had just managed to save them.

Thankfully, Crawly dropped the eye-count issue. “I’ll do it. Haven’t got any major assignments coming up.”

Aziraphale hadn’t expected him to volunteer so readily, but he was glad. He really didn’t need any more trouble after the flaming sword business, and he was supposed to report back to heaven after the flood. Oh, but—Crawly was a demon. “Absolutely not,” said Aziraphale. “If you think I am going to leave them here alone with a demon—”

“You almost left them alone with a flood.”

Aziraphale sucked in his breath and shut his eyes. He hadn’t, though. He hadn’t.

“Look, they’ll be fine,” said Crawly, his tone a little softer. “You think I’d have gone to all the trouble of saving them just to hurt them anyway? You can check in from time to time if you’re that worried.”

He shook his head. “No, that won’t be necessary.” He didn’t want to draw attention here by returning to the scene of the crime, or at least misdemeanor, anytime soon. Crawly was right. The children would be safe with him. “I’m supposed to report upstairs,” said Aziraphale, getting to his feet. “I’ll be seeing you, then.”

Crawly’s eyebrows rose. “Will you, now?”

The farewell had slipped out without much thought. “You know what I mean. Goodbye, Crawly.” He shot up to heaven in a beam of white light, leaving behind a demon, various pairs of animals, and several dozen stowaways. He hoped, as he always did, that he’d done the right thing. Either way, none of this was going into his report. It was all off the record.


	3. Moriah

Aziraphale half-sat, half-collapsed onto a rock and wiped the sweat from his brow. Finally, finally, he had reached the top of the mountain, or at least near it. He never should have let Crawly talk him into this, but the demon had described the view in such glowing terms that Aziraphale hadn’t been able to resist seeing what he was so excited about. “Believe me, it’s well worth the hike,” he had said when they briefly ran into each other. “And isn’t really that far.”

It turned out that Crawly and Aziraphale had very different definitions of “far.” Aziraphale doubted anything was worth this hike. But Aziraphale could be stubborn, and once he had set out to climb the mountain he would be damned if he wasn’t going to finish climbing that mountain. It had just taken him a little longer than he had expected.

Supposedly, half the countryside was visible from the peak, but all Aziraphale could see from his rock were some trees and shrubs. Maybe he’d walk around a little and try to find a better vantage point. After he’d caught his breath, of course, which was going to take some time. It was a hot day, but under the trees he at least had shade, and he had little inclination to move anytime soon. Now that he was seated, he could feel himself practically growing into the rock. He was built much more for sitting down than for climbing mountains, which was another reason he should have taken Crawly’s recommendation with a grain of salt.

An odd sound caught his attention, something out of sync with the dry rustle of the leaves, and he looked around. Someone else was coming up the mountain. Two someones, in fact, and a moment later Aziraphale recognized them and smiled. That would be Abraham and his son, Isaac. Aziraphale had had the honor of telling Abraham and Sarah that they were going to have a son, just before Gabriel and Sandalphon had gone on to Sodom and Gomorrah. Aziraphale had counted himself extremely lucky that he had been assigned to stay here and watch over Abraham’s family instead. This was much the sort of work he preferred. That other assignment had sounded horrible, and from the sound of things, Sandalphon had only made matters worse.

Aziraphale waved, but neither Abraham nor Isaac saw him in the shade of the trees. They were carrying quite a lot, and Abraham walked with purpose. Maybe Aziraphale had best not interrupt them. It had been a while since he had talked to them, but he could wait until they had finished whatever they came to do. He wondered how little Isaac was getting on, though nowadays he was getting less “little” each time Aziraphale saw him. He had always been such a wonderfully clever boy, and learned so fast. Aziraphale couldn’t help but think Crawly might like him. He had such a curious mind.

They were constructing something with the stuff they had brought up here. Oh, an altar, that was what it was. This did seem a good place for a sacrifice, high up and nearer to God, at least according to the human imagination. Perhaps the hike to get here counted as a sort of sacrifice on its own. Aziraphale looked back the way he had come and sighed. At some point, he was going to have to walk all the way back down. It would be easier than coming up, to be sure, but still.

A small cry drew his attention back to Abraham and Isaac. As usual, Isaac was being a little scamp and getting in the way, practically lying on top of the alter they’d built. Aziraphale chuckled. The boy could be so stubborn. No doubt Abraham would be very cross with him for misbehaving, particularly when they were preparing to sacrifice…what, exactly?

Isaac wasn’t lying on the altar at all, he was bound. He was _struggling._ There was a knife in Abraham’s hand.

“Stop!” Aziraphale bolted up from the rock and was behind Abraham in another instant, grabbing his hand to wrest the knife away. “Stop—What do you think you’re doing? Abraham, that is your _son._ ”

The man’s grasp was weak, and the knife fell from his hand easily. He looked a little lost, and more than a little frightened. “Th-the Lord told me—”

Oh. Oh, no. Aziraphale had gone and put his foot in it again. Well, it was too late now. What was he supposed to do, hand him back the knife and say _Oh I see, jolly good, in that case please carry on killing this child?_ Not likely.

The poor boy had stopped struggling against the bonds and was staring, terrified, at the angel, and Aziraphale now realized that his wings were out. He considered putting them away, and then thought better of it. “I-I am an angel of the Lord,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height, which was unfortunately still an inch or two shorter than Abraham. “And the Lord has sent me to tell you that this was all…” He gestured at the altar, the knife, and the terrified boy, and tried to scrape together an explanation. “A test. Yes.” He cleared his throat. “The Lord was testing you, Abraham. And you passed! Congratulations. Now, there’s really no need for any of this.” He knelt down to untie Isaac. “There, there, my boy,” he said in a hush, with a soothing hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s over now, you’re safe. Your father loves you very much.”

The boy was shaking a little bit as Aziraphale helped him off the altar. “Th-the sacrifice,” he stuttered. “Father, you said the Lord would provide it.”

The boy didn’t seem to have fully grasped what had just almost happened. Aziraphale looked up at Abraham, who still looked too stunned to think clearly. He supposed he was going to have to do everything himself. “Well, now, let’s see what we can find, shall we?” Aziraphale made a show of looking around and snapped his fingers behind his back. A nearby thicket started rustling. “Goodness me, what’s this?” He squinted into the thicket with a theatrical gasp. “Is that—Why, yes indeed, it’s a ram! What an extraordinary coincidence. And stuck by its horns, too. How very convenient.”

Abraham pressed a hand over his heart in relief and looked to the heavens. “Praise be. The Lord has provided!”

“Well, more or less,” muttered Aziraphale. It was starting to dawn on him how very much he should not be here. If Gabriel or another one of the archangels were to check in on him now, and find him standing here with a boy who quite possibly was supposed to have been killed and then burned—

“And He has sent you, as well, to spare my son,” Abraham added, turning to Aziraphale and bowing his head in gratitude.

Fidgeting with his hands, Aziraphale shot a glance at the sky. The Almighty had not sent him any more than She sent anyone anywhere without explicit instructions. Aziraphale had stumbled across Abraham just in the nick of time, and perhaps that _was_ more than just chance. So, in a way… “Yes,” he blurted out. “Yes, the Lord did send me. This was all planned. Exactly how it was supposed to go.”

Ineffable, that’s what it was. He hadn’t known about this because nobody knew the whole plan. She must have intended for him to come here after all. Except—

He was here because of Crawly. Not the Almighty. And while She had been known to work through unlikely agents, Aziraphale doubted that a demon would be one of them.

“Well, now that that’s all sorted,” he said, backing away with a nervous smile, “I’ll just be off. Lovely seeing you both.” He turned and practically ran back down the mountain.

His first thought was that Crawly must have planned the whole thing, but, no, that didn’t make sense. Crawly hadn’t done more than make a general sightseeing recommendation, and it would have been nearly impossible to coordinate Aziraphale’s arrival with Abraham and Isaac’s. If he had wanted to, Crawly could have just interfered with the sacrifice himself, unless he had recently changed his stance on whether a demon ought to be saving children. Unless he preferred to manipulate Aziraphale into doing it for him, to avoid any trouble downstairs…But how would he have heard about the sacrifice in the first place? Even Aziraphale hadn’t known about it.

No, this couldn’t have been Crawly’s doing. Aziraphale had managed to bungle this all on his own. Oh, well, he thought, glancing at the sky. That was just another thing he’d have to leave out of the reports, and hope the Almighty did not mention again. The list kept getting longer. But Isaac was alive, and unharmed, and that had to be worth something.


	4. Ramesses

“Crawly?”

Crawly looked up, blinking sluggishly through the haze of alcohol. Her eyes wouldn’t focus, but there was something familiar about the white-haired blob in front of her, and she definitely knew that voice. A few more blinks and Aziraphale came into view. “Ah, s’you,” Crawly slurred. “What’s up, angel?”

The angel looked her over with a furrowed brow. Crawly couldn’t imagine she looked very good right now. She’d been stone-cold drunk for…she wasn’t sure how long. The jug of wine she’d stolen from she-couldn’t-remember-where kept miraculously refilling itself whenever she wanted more, and if there was wine in the jug then somebody had to drink it, and well. Here she was.

“You look a bit, er…” Aziraphale hesitated.

“‘pletely hammered?” Crawly finished. “Yeah, bit.” She took another swig from the jug. It had lost most of its flavor around the seventh or eighth miraculous refilling, but fortunately it was still as strong as ever. Wine was such a nice invention. Crawly learned about it from Noah (who got credit for inventing it simply because everyone who could have contested his claim had drowned), and then later took credit for inventing alcoholism, so it was a double win. Temptations were always easier when the target was a little buzzed, although they were harder when Crawly was also tipsy, and if there was alcohol in the room she was usually drinking it. Still, it was great when you didn’t feel like thinking straight. Like now.

“Do angels get drunk?” she asked, tilting her head curiously.

“Well.” Aziraphale made a vague sort of gesture at her. “Usually not quite like this.”

“But y’do drink?”

Aziraphale blinked. Crawly grinned and held up the jug. “Go on, then.”

“Is that supposed to be a temptation?”

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “I look like I’m working right now?”

Aziraphale thought for a moment, then sat down on the ground beside her and leaned against the low stone wall she was using to prop herself up. He took the jug, held it in both hands, and sipped from it delicately. “Oh, Crawly, this isn’t even good.”

“Good enough f’r getting plastered.” Crawly sobered up just a little bit. If she was going to see a drunk angel, she wanted to be able to remember it.

Aziraphale took another sip, and when he handed it back to Crawly, the wine’s flavor was much improved. “Do you always drink like this?”

“Wouldn’t get much done if I did, would I?”

“What’s the occasion, then?”

Crawly wished she could take back what she’d said and pretend she was just an alcoholic. “Just, y’know. No reason.”

Aziraphale didn’t look convinced, but Crawly didn’t see why he would care, or why he was even still here. Maybe he thought that by drinking with Crawly, Crawly would stay drunk, and therefore incapacitated, for even longer. Well, the joke was on him. Crawly had only been drinking as a coping mechanism, and she was feeling better already.

“I had some assignments in town,” said Aziraphale. “I only just arrived today.”

That was something of a relief, at least. That meant he hadn’t had anything to do with, well. “You hear ‘bout recent events here, then?”

It was the sort of event people heard about. Crawly wished she had only heard about it. A river turned to blood, the air thick with insects and the stench of disease…

The angel looked away. “I, er…I did hear about that, yes.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. “What is the deal,” Crawly asked, “with your lot and killing kids?”

She didn’t know why she brought it up. The answer was just going to involve a lot of hand-waving, and the word “ineffable,” and then she wouldn’t be enjoying the conversation anymore and would have to just wait for the angel to leave her alone.

Aziraphale didn’t say “ineffable.” He just looked at the ground and shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said quietly.

Crawly looked at him for a moment, then offered him the wine again. He took it. Neither of them spoke, but that was alright. At least Crawly wasn’t drinking alone anymore.


	5. Jerusalem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had to write this because of [that one John Mulaney bit](https://youtu.be/ZMHGY-Csl7s?t=96), but I neglected to do my research until I actually wrote it and it turns out there are more details in the bible than I remembered...So we'll say this one is loosely based on the story of the Judgement of Solomon

Crawly ducked into the house, a little apprehensive about what he was going to find. He had figured out how to deal with most of his coworkers by now, but he hadn’t yet had a chance to meet the new Lord of the Files. Apparently, Beelzebub had fired the last one, literally: they had stuck him in a white-hot kiln until he developed a nice glaze like a clay pot, and when they took him out again he was in no shape to return to his post. From what Crawly had heard, the new Lord of the Files had taken to the position with enthusiasm, and enthusiasm about the job was always a red flag.

Crawly stopped in the doorframe and looked around at the strangest collection of objects he could ever remember seeing in one place. One corner was piled with cuttings from thorny plants next to a couple of pitchforks leaning against the wall. A cluster of pots were stacked precariously in the back, ranging in size from half of Crawly's height to smaller than his hand. There appeared to be an entire bookshelf lying sideways on the ground, and something, Crawly couldn’t tell what, smelled rotten. It took him a moment to spot the red-haired and sickly pale demon crouching among a tangle of sharp-edged tools, jotting down notes on a stone tablet.

Crawly cleared his throat. “You must be Dagon. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Crawly,” she said without looking up at him. “You are here to give your report, I take it?”

“Yep.” Crawly stepped inside, trying not to stare at Dagon’s collection. The objects got stranger the more he looked around. On a table sat a massive lion’s paw which appeared to have been freshly severed, as well as a whole fish and a basket of figs. He was pretty sure there was an entire human skull tucked away next to the bookshelf. It was no good, he couldn’t pretend anymore that this was normal. “Uh, what’s all this about?”

“Collecting a few things to take back to the office.” Dagon picked up a sickle, tested the blade on her finger, and nodded approvingly at the drops of red that oozed up. “Things we might find useful. I didn’t even know humans made such nefarious tools.”

Crawly decided not to tell her that most of them were used for agriculture. He glanced at the figs and wondered what was so nefarious about those. “Good idea. Pretty, um, impressive collection you’ve got here.” It was never a bad idea to get on the good side of the Lord of the Files. She was, after all, the one who was going to be filing most of his reports.

Flattery didn’t seem to work on her, based on the fact that she was still more interested in the pile of blades than in her coworker who was trying to make conversation. Crawly tried a little harder. “Looks like you’ve got a pretty good selection of plant cuttings over here,” he said, picking his way around the room. “Oh, some buttons, very nice.” He was almost certain at this point that Dagon had just picked up whatever random objects she happened to cross paths with. Probably wanted to make a good impression on Beelz after her first trip up to Earth. Understandable, really. Crawly had been there. He doubted that bringing home a small museum would get her on Beelzebub’s good side, though, partly because hell was cramped enough as it was, and partly because nobody had ever seen any evidence to suggest that Beelzebub had a good side.

Perhaps Crawly ought to say something. “So how d’you plan on getting all this back?” He bent down to investigate a little bundle of cloth. “I mean, there’s an awful lot—”

He stopped in the middle of unwrapping the bundle and stared at what was inside. Clearing his throat, he forced a casual tone and asked, “Uh, what’s this?”

Dagon glanced over, and smirked with pride. “Yes, that’s a fascinating specimen. Must be some kind of odd vermin they have here. Hideous, isn’t it?”

Crawly swallowed. How to put this… “Dagon, this is a human baby.”

“Really?” She straightened and walked over to look at it, eyes glinting with interest. “What happened to make it so stunted and deformed?”

“Mm, no, this is what they normally look like.” Crawly did not tell her that the baby’s abnormally large head and eyes usually inspired affection and protectiveness in humans, or that it also sort of worked on himself. They were just so tiny and helpless and, damn it, adorable. He folded his arms to keep himself from picking up the baby and poking his little dimpled cheeks. “Erm, where did you get it?”

“Took it from some human,” said Dagon. “You wouldn’t believe the sound it makes. If we can reproduce that downstairs, I think we’ll be able to break souls 20% faster. I had to put it to sleep just so I could focus.”

At least it was only asleep. Crawly ran his hands over his face and bit back the assertion that you couldn’t just _steal a baby,_ and you definitely couldn’t bring it to hell afterwards. He would just grow up into a regular-sized human, anyway, and Crawly considered telling Dagon this, but then she might get the idea that they needed a constant fresh supply, and Crawly did not like the idea of that at all. Now he had definitely looked at the baby for too long, because he was starting to get ideas into his head about getting him back to his mother, assuming that Dagon had left the mother alive. He couldn’t exactly snatch the baby up and run, but there had to be a way, right? He was a wily demon. He could figure it out.

“Uh, yeah.” Crawly straightened and acted like he wasn’t a sappy disgrace of a demon who still got emotional whenever he witnessed a birth and impulsively risked his neck to save children. It wasn’t his fault. They were just so terrifically curious, and their eyes lit up when they asked questions, and they were so _small_ … “I just remembered something else I’ve got to do. Can the report wait just a bit?”

Dagon looked less than pleased. “I’m here until sundown. You have until then.”

“Great, thanks,” said Crawly, flashing a grin. “Good luck with all this,” he said, waving around at the piles of stuff. “Congrats on the promotion, by the way.”

She didn’t say anything else. Crawly nodded and left. “She’s friendly,” he muttered.

It didn’t take long to track down the mother of the missing child, but then there was the difficult matter of getting the baby out from under Dagon’s nose without her noticing. He considered replacing the baby with something else, like a cat, or a potato, but unfortunately Dagon was neither blind nor stupid and would probably notice the difference. Plus, she was already compiling a detailed inventory. It seemed unlikely that she would conveniently forget about the baby. So he would need to find another way to convince her to leave the kid behind.

He was wandering around town trying to brainstorm when he noticed a small commotion near the palace, and went over to investigate. King Solomon must be settling disputes again. Maybe Crawly could get in line for some of his signature wisdom. Maybe he’d have an answer for “how do I kidnap a baby from a very diligent bookkeeper without her noticing?”

Crawly stepped through the door of the palace, cursed under his breath, and drew back against the archway. The bookkeeper in question was currently in an audience with the king, along with some other woman. What was she doing here? Had she decided to investigate the humans’ government as well? She really needed to learn to scope her work more clearly.

“It’s mine, fair and square,” she was saying. “I don’t know what this woman’s talking about.”

“Then you, also, claim to be the child’s mother?” the king asked.

Crawly choked. Now he recognized the other woman as the kidnapped baby’s mother. She must have gone to the king immediately after Crawly had spoken with her, unaware that she was bringing a suit against a demon. Depending on how much Dagon wanted to keep her specimen, this might end very badly.

“Sure,” said Dagon, though Crawly doubted she even knew what a mother was. “I’ll have my ‘child’ back now.”

“If you both claim to be the mother,” said the king, “then it is only fair that you both share him evenly. Guard, cut the child in half.”

At the same time, Crawly said, “What?” out loud, Dagon said, “I want the top part,” and the baby’s mother shrieked and fell on her knees. “Don’t,” she begged. “She can keep him, just please don’t hurt my son…”

The king held up a hand to stop the guard, who had reached for his sword but looked queasy about it, and now looked extremely relieved. The king pointed at the baby’s mother. “Give the child to this woman. She is clearly the true mother.”

The woman took her child back and hugged it it protectively against her chest, glaring daggers at Dagon. The court nodded and murmured its approval. Crawly looked at them in disbelief and muttered, “Cut the child in half?”

“Crawly.”

He jumped and looked up to see Dagon walking towards him. “Hey,” he said. “Was just, uh, looking for you. To give my report.”

“It is nearly sundown,” she pointed out. “I was beginning to think you intended to skip it.”

The tone of her voice informed Crawly that this would have been a grave mistake. “Me, skip a report? Never. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dagon ignored him and glanced back into the palace. “The human legal system is completely incomprehensible,” she said, apparently to herself. “Splitting the child seemed like a perfectly fair solution.”

“Yeah, uh,” said Crawly, cringing. “You do know they die if you cut them in half?”

“Really?” asked Dagon. “I’ll make a note of that. Pity I wasn’t able to study it any longer.”

Crawly nodded, then frowned. “Study? I thought, uh, you were going to bring him—it—back?”

“Yes, before I knew it was human,” she said, casting a look at Crawly like this was obvious and he should have figured it out. “The higher-ups strongly disapprove of taking human souls Below before their time. That’s the whole reason your job exists, Crawly.”

Oh. So all of Crawly’s worrying and scheming was completely unnecessary. Dagon had intended to leave the baby behind all along. “Mhm, good thinking. Lucky I recognized it as a baby, eh?”

Dagon didn’t answer. She didn’t seem like the chatty type. Good to know. The last Lord of the Files hadn’t liked Crawly much, either. Why were they all so hard to get along with? Why couldn’t hell, just once, send up someone pleasant and easy to talk to, someone who might chuckle at Crawly’s jokes and let him ramble and really, actually _listen_ to him…

He blinked, realizing that he was envisioning one very specific person with whom hell would absolutely not approve of him interacting.

“Crawly.”

His head snapped up. “Yep?”

Dagon frowned at him. “I said you had better give your report quickly. I still need to finish cataloguing what I’ve collected before I return Downstairs.”

“Alright.” Crawly nodded, and then noticed that she was looking at him expectantly. “Um, now?”

“If you’re done putting it off, then yes, now would be good.”

Crawly nodded, cleared his throat, and started listing off notable things that had happened since his last report two months ago. He had given enough reports by now that he could do this mostly on autopilot, while his mind wandered. He couldn’t stop thinking about the absurdity of King Solomon ordering that the baby be cut in half, or what the onlookers might have thought when Dagon was okay with it, or what Aziraphale might have to say about this whole episode. No doubt he would have thoughts on the matter. He always did. Crawly looked forward to hearing them next time they inevitably crossed paths.


	6. Bethlehem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially inspired by [this tumblr post](https://neil-gaiman.tumblr.com/post/188009708391/hey-i-know-this-is-short-notice-but-could-you).

Aziraphale paced the floor, trying to keep his hands still. Everything was perfect. Everything had to be perfect, because this was the biggest assignment he had ever received, and he could not afford to let anything to go wrong. Not that he would. He had planned ahead. He knew exactly when Mary and Joseph were to arrive, and the whole inn was prepared for their arrival. He would have felt bad booking up so many rooms when the census had brought so many travelers in search of temporary housing, but surely sacrifices could be made when the Messiah was involved. He could have gone with just one room, certainly, but it never hurt to have a backup. Or a backup-backup. Or, actually, every single backup available.

He had been cycling through all the rooms, checking to make sure that all of them were still there, and the keys all still worked, and making sure that none of the hundred other things he kept imagining going wrong had gone wrong. Everything was in order, just like it was five checks ago, but he needed to occupy himself somehow while he waited for Mary and Joseph to arrive, or he was going to drive himself up the wall.

Come to think of it, they should probably be here by now.

Aziraphale paused, tried to shake off his worry, and failed. They were late. They weren’t supposed to be late. He ought to have sent someone to keep an eye out for them at the edge of town, or maybe he should have just met them halfway so he could escort them into Bethlehem himself. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He could have done a much better job.

_Breathe,_ he reminded himself, as he went downstairs. It was probably nothing. Just some little delay on the road. But he ought to check with the innkeeper just in case.

He snooped around a little and found the innkeeper in the kitchen. “Hello,” he said with a friendly smile that he hoped masked his anxiety. “Have they arrived yet?”

He looked confused. “Who?”

Aziraphale frowned. “The…the couple I was waiting for. All the rooms were supposed to be for them.”

The innkeeper frowned, puzzled. “I don’t remember you mentioning that.”

Aziraphale was certain he had mentioned that. Or perhaps he hadn’t. Had he? It was all sort of a blur. “H-has anyone come by looking for a room?”

“Sure, plenty of people,” said the innkeeper. “I turned them all away. Told them it was all booked up.”

Oh, that was a bad sign. Aziraphale put his hands behind his back so he could grip them in white-knuckled panic without the innkeeper seeing. “It would have been a, a, a young couple from Nazareth,” he said, his voice climbing higher. “She was with child, _very_ with child. I’m sure you would have noticed—”

“Oh! Yeah, a couple like that did come by,” said the innkeeper, nodding.

“And?”

The innkeeper waved at him impatiently. “You booked everything up! What was I supposed to do?”

“You turned away a _pregnant woman?_ ” It was taking everything Aziraphale had not to fly into a million terrified pieces. This was his most important assignment ever, the kind of thing that only came around a handful of times in all of human history, and Mary and Joseph were not here. “Where did they go?”

“Not sure. I told them they could use the stables, if they needed a flat surface immediately, or there was another inn in town they could check—”

Aziraphale made a frantic, high-pitched noise and fled out the door. This was a disaster. The Son of God born in a stable, on a bed of straw, with no angelic supervision—That wasn’t what was supposed to happen at all, oh, Gabriel would have his head for this—

Crawly was coming out of the stables, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Oh, hey,” she said, with a nod of mild surprise. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why are you here?” If it came out harsher than he’d meant it, that was only because Aziraphale was trying very hard not to dissociate and fly into a fugue state.

“Rude,” muttered Crawly. “Hi, Aziraphale. I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“What were you doing in there?”

“Uh—Nothing you need to worry about.” There was a trace of unease in Crawly’s nonchalant pose. She was hiding something. No, she couldn’t have interfered with this, no, no, no—

Aziraphale bolted for the door, and Crawly shot out an arm to block him. “Ngh, no need to go in there,” she said. “Nothing to see.”

“What did you _do?_ ” Aziraphale shrieked. A few extra eyes opened on accident.

Crawly flinched back against the wall. “Fine, I was—delivering a baby.”

Whatever Aziraphale had expected, it hadn’t been that. “What?”

“This pregnant woman came into town ‘cause of the census, practically already crowning,” she explained. “Innkeep wouldn’t give her a room. Apparently some prick booked up the whole place for himself.”

“You—delivered—?” Aziraphale couldn’t breathe. He was fairly certain he was having a panic attack. Christ, the Messiah, The Son of God, had been delivered by a demon. That was the very last thing which should have been allowed to happen.

“Yeah,” said Crawly cringing with slight embarrassment. “Some kid came pounding on my door, said there was urgent need for a midwife, and—”

“A midwife,” Aziraphale repeated. “You? You’ve done this before?”

“Couple of…hundred times, yeah.”

Aziraphale blinked. “You, a midwife? The serpent of Eden?”

“How many times are you gonna make me say it? Yes, I’ve delivered loads of kids. Happy?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say, he wasn’t sure what exactly. The revelation that Crawly, who had inspired the sin which brought the punishment of excruciating labor down on humanity, was a midwife on the side, was hardly the most important thing happening here. He dropped the conversation altogether, forced his way past Crawly, and threw open the door. Maybe he could still salvage the situation, he thought desperately, though the chance seemed low. There was no telling what Crawly might have done. She could have cursed the boy, or made some demonic impression on him, or—

Inside, Mary lay against a heap of straw, cradling a tiny baby. He looked…well, like any other baby, small and brown and wrinkly. Aziraphale hovered over him, unnoticed by either of the humans, and searched the ethereal plane for anything demonic, but there was nothing. The baby, Jesus Christ, looked at him and blinked.

“He looks so normal,” Aziraphale muttered to himself, straightening.

“Yeah, it was a pretty textbook delivery,” said Crawly, following him in. “Baby’s fine, nice healthy baby boy. Nothing out of the ordinary. Aziraphale, what was that reaction for?”

He looked back at Crawly. So she hadn’t sabotaged him. She didn’t even seem to know what was going on. She had even, accidentally, helped. “Oh.” Aziraphale leaned against the wall. Maybe it was all the pressure and anxiety catching up to him, but he thought he might start crying. “I-I’ve made a mess of things again, it seems.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” said Crawly. “Whatever it was, can’t have been that bad.”

It was that bad. Gabriel was going to demote him as far as it was possible. He’d be taking the other angels’ coffee orders in heaven for the rest of eternity. He’d never get leave to return to Earth. His hands shook.

“Hey,” said Crawly. “Bet some wine’ll calm you down. What say we get some drinks, and maybe you tell me what this is about?”

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t…But the assignment was over, wasn’t it? The Messiah had been born, and there was nothing else to be done except report back to his superiors, which he would really prefer to put off for as long as possible. Crawly was right, a glass of wine would help, and if he talked it through with someone who wouldn’t judge him for it, he might be less likely to cry later in front of Gabriel and the others. He gave a shaky nod. “Yes, I think…alright.”

Crawly stared into her cup after Aziraphale had finished explaining. “Oh.”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale miserably.

“Seriously?” asked Crawly. “That helpless little potato back there? That was the Messiah?”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and nodded.

“Wow.” Crawly leaned back. “I held the Son of God. I counted his holy little toes.”

“Do _not_ tell anyone,” Aziraphale begged him. “Please.”

“Oh, darn,” said Crawly sarcastically, sipping her wine. “I’ll have no interesting gossip for my weekly bridge games with Hastur and Ligur and Dagon. Come on, angel, who’m I gonna tell? You think Beelzebub’ll be happy to hear that I delivered the Savior of Humanity?”

That was true. That was good. Was that good? “It’s my fault Mary had to give birth in the stables,” Aziraphale admitted miserably. “I booked up the inn—It was supposed to be for them, only I forgot to tell the innkeeper, and now—I’ve mucked it up terribly.” He laid his head on the table. “It’ll be a miracle if they don’t fire me.”

“Nobody’s gonna fire you,” said Crawly impatiently. “Stop being overdramatic.”

“Overdamatic—?” Aziraphale raised his head indignantly. “Crawly, you have no idea how important this assignment was.”

“Yeah, I do. You just finished telling me,” Crawly pointed out. “But I don’t see the problem. Everything worked out, didn’t it? The kid was born, he’s healthy, and the family’s fine.”

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go!”

“So? Just tell your boss it went smoothly,” said Crawly. “That’s not even a lie. Tell them an experienced midwife helped with the delivery, because I did.”

“I was supposed to oversee the whole thing.”

“Which is why I’m gonna describe it to you, in case he asks,” said Crawly. “He’ll never know I was there. Or that you weren’t. No harm done.”

Aziraphale stared at her. Crawly was right, it wouldn’t be that hard to gloss over the tricky parts in his report, and he did have experience hiding things from his superiors. He just wasn’t entirely sure why she was here suggesting it. “Why were you here tonight?” he asked cautiously. “You can’t have just happened to be in Bethlehem when this was happening.”

“No,” Crawly admitted. “My lot worked out that something big was gonna go down here. I was supposed to figure out what.” She gave a dry laugh. “And then accidentally delivered the Son of God in the meantime.”

Aziraphale paled. Crawly was here gathering intel, and he had just told her everything.

“I’m not gonna tell them what happened,” she said, as if she’d read his mind. “This doesn’t look good for me, either. If they knew that I knew about the Christ child, they’d wonder why I didn’t just bash his head in.”

Aziraphale’s stomach lurched. “Would you have…?”

“Would I—You need to ask?”

No, he knew better. He didn’t think Crawly would ever intentionally hurt a child. But none of this explained why Crawly was still here, or why she had looked so concerned about Aziraphale’s earlier panic. Aziraphale watched her take a swig of her wine and wondered if he ought to ask, but he had a feeling Crawly wouldn’t give him a straight answer if he did. It wasn’t very demonic of her to stick around and try to comfort an angel. But Crawly wasn’t a normal sort of demon. She saved children, she delivered babies, and she obviously cared a great deal for humanity. It just hadn’t occurred to Aziraphale before that she might also care for him.

“Thank you,” he said. “For, er, helping me get my story straight.” Aziraphale had thought it would be difficult, or perhaps even painful, to thank a demon. It wasn’t difficult at all.

Crawly scoffed. “No need. M’only here for the wine.”

“It is good wine.” Aziraphale picked up the jug on their table and frowned into it. “Though it seems we’re almost out.”

Crawly turned and waved at the bartender. “Oi! Another one of these, for me ‘n’ my friend, if you don’t mind.”

Aziraphale blinked. _Friend._ Crawly had said it so naturally that she didn’t even seem to realize what she’d said. How long had she considered him a friend? More accurately, how long had they been friends, without Aziraphale realizing it?

“Right,” said Crawly, turning back to him. “I still need to give you my account of the birth, yeah?”

“I would very much appreciate that.” It was a good thing Crawly had been here, and not only because had she delivered the baby when Aziraphale dropped the ball. Crawly had been right, the wine had helped Aziraphale calm down, but her company had helped more. He didn’t know if there was anyone else he could have talked to about this. There definitely wasn’t anyone else who would have helped him through it.

They ended up staying at the bar long past it was supposed to have closed (it was simple to keep the humans from noticing them and realizing that they needed to kick them out), and talked about much more than just the recent birth of Christ. It had been a while since they had seen each other. It usually had, but they always seemed to bump into each other again. At this point, it was expected. Perhaps even anticipated.

“Oh, goodness,” said Aziraphale, glancing out the window and noticing that the sky was getting lighter. “It’s nearly dawn already. My report—” He scrambled to his feet.

“Good luck up there,” said Crawly. “Not that you’ll need it.”

Aziraphale never looked forward to reporting to the archangels, but he felt much more mentally prepared for it now than he had the previous night. He had needed this. It was nice to be able to forget about work for a little while. He looked down at Crawly. “Thank—”

“Hell’s sake, stop thanking me,” she interrupted. “I’m just demoning around. Keeping you from doing your job.” She glanced pointedly up at the ceiling. “To that end, better get a move on.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Well, then,” he said, very deliberately. “Until next time.”

Crawly stifled a grin and raised her cup. “See you then, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
